Mortal Thoughts
by Mega3
Summary: He should have taken the stairs.


**Rating:** PG

**Written:** Copyright August 2000 GirlsThree (formerly Mabrown). All rights reserved.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, don't own them. My cat makes more money than I do.

**Spoilers:** Major ones for the episode _"Dead Drop."_

**Summary:** Blair deals with a painful memory.

**Mortal Thoughts**

By MaBrown

The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a hazy beam upon the still figure seated quietly on the couch. A solemn expression marred the youthful features of the attractive young man, as he fought a battle not visible to the naked eye. Although the exterior presented a façade a peace and tranquility to the casual observer, the interior hosted a battle of great intensity. Swirling emotions and maddening mortal thoughts played havoc with his mind and soul, as he reflected on the horrific events of a day long past.

Death. Something which seemed to come knocking for this particularly unlucky individual a little too often. A word, which, at his young age, should rarely be thought of, let alone dealt with on such a regular, strangely intimate basis. At least he hadn't been alone this time when facing the dreaded word. No, he'd been in an elevator full of other people, slowly falling to his untimely demise. Yet, once again, he'd looked death straight in its hooded, evil eye. Fortunately for him, he'd come off victorious once more. Except this time he'd acquired yet another secret little phobia to add to the closet full he possessed deep within his psyche.

He felt slightly foolish for feeling this way, but could anyone really blame him? How many people could exude any type of calm while being held captive in an elevator which had suddenly been designated as their tomb? How many people wouldn't scream out loud at the absurdity of being used as a pawn in a madman's sick game, when their day of reckoning had started so simply, begun so innocently?

Blair could still feel the hot flush of near rabid fear as he recalled opening that briefcase, only to find it held the ultimate insurance that he and the others were going to die…a bomb. A ticking mechanism filled with explosives that, once ignited, would have sent his body to kingdom come. In a thousand little pieces, no less. There would have been nothing to bury, just a memory, just a passing mortal thought. A figment of another's mind.

The still figure shivered slightly, the action breaking the oppressive silence permeating the sunlit room. Death. Why couldn't he seem to shake this one off as easily as his past near-death experiences? Why did this one haunt him so much, leave him writhing in his bed late at night, dreaming of exploding tombs and ticking bombs? Why did the red-lit numbers on his alarm clock freak him out so badly first thing every morning? So much so that he'd finally hidden the clock, removed the glowing red numbers from sight as if that small, childish act could keep the monsters of his mind at bay. Funny, the things one will do when their world has suddenly been turned inside out.

He couldn't go near the loft's elevator without breaking out in a cold, sick sweat. The mere thought sent a wave of nausea through his body so severe that several times he hadn't made it back into the apartment fast enough. Somehow he'd figured out how to make it to the stairwell without ever casting a glance at that two-door death trap. A skill he was learning to master everywhere, in every building where the steel beast resided. The stairs were his savior, the very thing that kept him from snapping. They kept him from remembering too vividly.

He knew Jim was getting worried, but that was something he chose not to think about. Besides, he was the master of obfuscation, the weaver of lies. Blair had a thousand quips ready to reply to any question his friend would think to ask. No one needed to know about this little problem. What purpose would it serve? Another joke for the already rampant rumor mill at the precinct? Another reason to doubt his ability to 'handle the job' or 'check his emotions at the door'? No, no one would be the wiser. He'd play this off like so many other traumas in his life. Put on a happy face… and smile.

The sun's warm rays had long since passed, and dusk had settled in their place. The loft was now dark, and the figure on the couch had become a mere shadow in the dim light. Still and quiet, and alone with his mortal thoughts.

~Finis~


End file.
